A/N This should be the next-to-last chapter before we get to Stanford and into the series timeline. (I say should because the Winchester Boys have their own ideas about things.) I'll be staying AU, but my intention is to be kind of parallel, if that makes sense.

DISCLAIMER: Still not mine. Still no money for it.

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Wednesday, April 26, 2000

10:30 am

SInger Salvage

Sioux Falls, SD

It was twelve days before they heard from John again.

Twelve days of waiting, and wondering, and looking over shoulders.

Twelve days of Bobby — not Dean — taking Sam to and from school because, a) it was too dangerous for Sam to walk to the bus stop a mile down the road, where he waited alone and, even if Dean or Bobby waited with him, he couldn't safely get on the bus, because his was the first stop in the morning, and the last in the afternoon, and there was no way to ensure that the bus driver — or another student, for that matter — wasn't possessed; and b) it was too dangerous for Dean to take him, because that would leave him vulnerable to kidnapping, driving one way alone, morning and afternoon.

Dean hated those twelve days. He couldn't go anywhere alone, not even to pick up parts for the latest rebuilds. He couldn't let Sammy spend time with his friends, because they couldn't be sure who was and wasn't a demon, and it was impractical for him to give holy water to everyone he met.

They'd nearly gone to the movies, but couldn't agree on what to see, and besides, Bobby correctly pointed out that all it would take to get to them would be one usher, ticket taker, or dude at a concession stand.

To say that he and Sammy were getting on each other's nerves was, as Dean pointed out, the understatement of the millennium. Which, Sammy quickly responded, was a drastic overstatement, given that the new millennium was still eight months away and no way was the understatement of the last 999 1/3 years anything to do with them, to which Dean replied that the millennium was already four months old, since it started in 2000, which everybody knew, and don't get all math geek on me, dammit, to which Sammy had replied that even if he accepted the erroneous contention that the millennium had already started, a four month span was hardly any measure to determine what the understatement of the millennium might be, and it was pure vanity and hubris to claim the title for themselves, and then Dean had started yelling at Sammy for using big words to sound smart and make Dean look bad, and Bobby then had to physically separate them before they came to actual blows. Again.

For the last four days, Sammy had been sleeping on the couch because every night that they shared a room ended up with something getting broken. In fact, the only thing they'd really agreed on in the last twelve days was not telling Bobby that some of the things broken were bones, and both boys were grateful that Sam was able to fix any breaks before Bobby found out.

So, when the shadow fell over Dean while he was working on a rebuild of the 350 V8 in a 25th Anniversary Edition Corvette, all he really felt was relief.

"Hand me the 3/4 inch socket, will you, Dad?" he said by way of greeting and grunted his thanks when the requested tool entered his field of vision.

He felt the car shift slightly as John leaned under the hood, checking his work.

"You know, Dean," John said conversationally, as if they hadn't had a two year separation which ended with Dean trying to hit him, "I think you're probably a better mechanic than I am. Or you will be, with time."

Dean finished tightening the bolt and straightened slowly, stretching his back a little as he tossed the wrench back into the upright rolling tool chest that Sammy had given him for his 21st birthday, and wiped his hands on the rag hanging from his back pocket.

"Thanks," he said offhandedly. "Why are you here?"

"I'm not allowed to see how my son is doing?" John shrugged, as if it were an everyday thing.

"No," Dean nearly growled, "you're not. Why are you here."

"I needed to talk to you, Dean," John sighed, "and I figured you wouldn't pick up or return my calls."

"You're right, I wouldn't, because like I told you last time — there's nothing left to say," Dean told him, and reached over to pick up and open a bottle of water from the cooler next to the tool chest.

"Not for you," John admitted, "but there are things you need to hear."

"There's nothing…"

"I was wrong," John said firmly, stopping Dean cold. "I'm sorry. I was wrong."

Dean snapped the water bottle towards his father, frowning as the water hit John in the face with no effect.

John licked the water from his upper lip, before wiping the rest from his face with one hand. "Not a demon," he sighed.

"What am I supposed to think?" Dean challenged. "In the 17 years since we left Lawrence, I've heard you admit you were wrong twice. And I've never heard you apologize. Certainly not to me or Sam." He crossed his arms, and glared at the familiar face before him. "Who are you?"

John sighed. "I presume there's a silver knife in with your tools?" he guessed, and held out a hand.

Dean reached without looking into the top corner of the tool chest, pulling out a thin, 6 inch blade as he grabbed his father's hand.

John raised an eyebrow. "I can do that myself."

Dean shook his head. "Not handing you a weapon," he said as he pushed John's sleeve up, and placed the blade against the skin of John's forearm. "My father taught me better than that," he admitted and made a thin, shallow cut, nodding in satisfaction when there was no sizzle.

He wiped the knife on John's shirt and put it back in the tool chest, while John pulled a bandana out of his back pocket and wrapped it around his arm.

"Satisfied?" John challenged.

"You're you," Dean shrugged. "Why are you here."

"There are things you need to know," John began.

Dean looked at his watch. "You've got ten minutes," he decided. "I want you gone before Bobby gets back from picking up the parts I need."

"Son," John began and reached forward, as if to put a hand on Dean's shoulder.

Dean slipped back a step, out of reach. "Talk."

John let his hand fall to his side with a resigned sigh. "Everything I said about what the Yellow-Eyed Demon did to Sam is true," he began, and pushed on quickly as Dean shook his head and started to turn away, "but I was wrong," he repeated and breathed a short sigh of relief as Dean slowly turned back to him, "about what it's done to him. I thought it had turned him into a Demon," he admitted and continued on as Dean shook his head in obvious disgust, "because that's what my initial research showed would happen if someone is fed Demon blood. But I've dug deeper…"

"In the last twelve days?" Dean challenged, "Because last time you dropped by, you were still pretty convinced."

"Yes," John admitted. "In the last twelve days. I've learned more. A LOT more. And while there's still a danger that Sam could go full Demon — it's not guaranteed."

Despite himself, Dean was intrigued by the new information. "How do you know? What changed your mind?"

"I…he's not the only one," John admitted.

"Not the only one what?"

"Not the only baby to be fed Demon Blood," John clarified. "It's happened before. I came across a manuscript, from the 1830's. Apparently, the same thing happened back then, somewhere out west. A Demon — might have been Yellow-Eyes, but I don't know for sure — fed its blood to two brothers, twins. Like with Sam, the mother was killed. The twins' father was a Hunter, and he figured out what had happened, but didn't know what it would do to his sons. There was some kind of organization, the document called it the Brotherhood, that he answered to, and they told him the blood would change the boys, turn them into Demons, and he needed to kill the boys. I guess, after losing his wife, he couldn't handle it, so killed himself, but he didn't touch the boys. This Brotherhood, whatever it was, took the twins, and separated them. One was given to another Hunter and his wife, the other to a member of the Brotherhood and his wife. The twins were only six months old, and where never told they were adopted, apparently, so neither boy ever knew his brother existed."

"This is a lovely bedtime story, Dad, but can you get to the point."

"The POINT," John spat, "is that the twins were raised apart and raised differently. And the twin raised by the Brotherhood had these, these powers — I don't know what powers, the manuscript didn't say. I know that the powers were dangerous. The manuscript didn't actually say, one way or another, but it certainly implies that Hunter's twin didn't have powers. What the manuscript did say, very clearly, is that the twin raised by the Brotherhood, the twin with powers, turned into a Demon. He killed the parents that raised him, and tried to kill the other members of the Brotherhood. So the Brotherhood called the Hunter for help, and he brought the other twin. Who was, apparently, human. The twins fought, and the human twin was murdered by his brother. The Demon boy disappeared after that." John stopped and looked at Dean expectantly.

Dean slow clapped, and shook his head. "Still a great bedtime story. What's. Your. Point."

"We can save Sammy," John said and Dean was surprised at the desperation in his Dad's voice. "We have a chance, Dean. He hasn't got any powers, yet," John pointed out and Dean fought to keep any trace of response off his face, "and as long as he doesn't, there's a chance to keep him Human, to keep him from becoming a Demon."

"Dad…"

"We have to be careful with him, Dean," John continued. "We have to be so, so careful. Make sure he knows that all monsters are bad, make sure he never develops powers, that seems to be the difference. The notes I found showed that Brotherhood had run these, these experiments on the boy, and that he found his powers as a result. And the Brotherhood was known to keep some monsters around, I don't know why, but it gave the one twin the idea that it isn't necessary to kill every monster. The Hunter's boy, he was just raised…like a Hunter. Like I raised you and Sammy, to know what's evil and to hunt it down, and I think that's why that twin didn't go all dark side."

"Dad…"

"You and Sammy, you have to come back with me, Dean. You have to. Together, you and me, we can keep him safe," John urged, and that desperate note was back in his voice. "We can keep raising him as a Hunter, knowing what's right and wrong, what's good and evil. We can keep him safe, Dean. We can keep him human."

Dean sighed and ran one hand over his short cropped hair. "So, that's your proposal," he challenged. "We come back to you, and go back to the way things were? All of us Hunting, together, one happy family, huh? Just ignoring that you almost killed him?"

"I was wrong," John repeated, without, Dean noticed, a trace of regret or humility in his voice, "and I apologized…"

"Not to Sammy, you didn't. And it doesn't matter," Dean told him. "I don't trust you, Dad. Not with Sam. I can see it, what would happen. He'd say or do something, and you'll take it as some kind of sign that he's going all Dark Side, and then what will you do, Dad? If you decide he's going to become a Demon after all, what would you do?" He paused and watched his Dad closely.

John didn't respond.

"Tell me!" Dean demanded. "What would you do? Huh? What would you do if you even thought, just for a second, that Sammy would, some day, some time, become a Demon. What would you do? TELL ME!"

"I'D KILL HIM!" John shouted back, and closed his eyes, fighting back tears. "It would destroy me, Dean, it would. But we'd have no choice. If he turns Demon, if he becomes the Boy King, the World would burn. We'd have to kill him, Dean. There's no other choice. To save the world, if he starts to have powers, if he starts to turn…Sam would have to die," John said quietly and even through his anger, Dean could see that his dad was nearly choking on the words and his tears. "You understand, Dean, don't you?" John asked a little desperately. "You understand."

"I understand," Dean nodded, his voice as even and cold as John's was shaking and broken. "I understand we can't trust you. You wouldn't even try to find another way," he accused. "First hint of anything you thought was slightly hinky, and Sammy's dead. At your hand." Dean shook his head, and wiped a hand roughly across his eyes, wiping away tears that he'd never let fall. "There's never any second chance with you. Never any options. It's all…so…black and white, for you, isn't it?"

"It's the end of the world, Dean. If it's Sam or the whole of humanity…"

"It would never get that far," Dean snarled.

"I know you think you can keep…"

"NO," Dean interrupted, "that's not it. It's not that I wouldn't let it get that far, wouldn't let Sammy change. I mean, I wouldn't, I won't, but that's not what I'm talking about. It's you, Dad. You would never let it get that far. Sammy would never have a chance to turn into anything, because you would see something evil in him, like you always have. And you'd kill him. Maybe with a knife or a gun, or just beat him the fuck to death, like you damn near did last time."

"I told you, I made a mistake in Asheville," John confessed. "A horrible mistake, and I'm going to have to live with that, but…"

"Oh, gimme a fuckin' break!" Dean yelled. "A mistake? You know, I might buy that, if it weren't for the fact that YOU'D DONE IT BEFORE! Oh, that was the worst, no doubt, but don't you dare stand there and pretend that you hadn't beaten the shit out of that boy a hundred times before that."

"Dean…"

"NO!" Dean pushed at his father's chest, knocking him back several steps. "I know you, Dad, every bit as well as I know Sammy. You hate him. You always have, ever since Mom died. You hate him. You blame him, for something that couldn't possibly have been his fault. He was six months old, Dad! He didn't do anything, he didn't summon anything. He was attacked, and Mom died because she tried to stop it, because she tried to protect him. Like I do." Dean huffed out a breath and shook his head, looking at his father with a level of disgust John had never seen from his son before. "Like you never do," he said softly, "not since he was 10 years old. And I know you. It's only a matter of time before Sam does something wrong, something you think is fucking 'demonic' and you decide he has to die. He'll talk back one too many times. Worse, he'll make a suggestion that you don't agree with, and he'll be right, like he was with that hag in Asheville, and suddenly, he'll be half way to Demonhood. And you'll kill him for it. And you expect us to fucking come back?" Dean marveled.

"Dean," John began, "son, you're…"

"Get out," Dean said, suddenly — terrifyingly — calm. "Just…just go, Dad. Don't come back. Don't ever come back."

"Dean, if you'd just listen…"

"Bobby's going to be back soon," Dean warned, "and if you're still here, he's gonna fill you full o' buckshot, and I'm not going to do a fucking thing to stop him. 'Fact, you're just damn lucky I find it uncomfortable to be carrying when I'm working on a car, or you'd be crawling instead of walking out of here."

"Dean, if you'll just come back, I give you my word I…"

"You know," Dean said conversationally, "a knife's not the only thing I keep in my tool box, Dad. I suggest you walk out, while you can, or you will end up crawling. Either way, you're leaving. Now. For good. If you ever come back, uninvited - I will shoot you, and it won't be any fucking buckshot. It'll be a bullet in your stomach or your back. And you'll never be able to hurt Sammy again."

John stared at his son for a long moment, gauging how serious he was.

John nodded and started to turn away, then looked back. "Something's coming for your brother," John said, "for the Boy King. It's not a demon. I don't know what it is, but the rumors are too many, and too consistent to be safely ignored. What I'm hearing is, it's something new, something not seen on Earth before, or at least not for a long time. Be careful, Dean," John said with a sad smile. "I know you don't believe me, and I guess I can't blame you for that. But I…I don't want anything to happen to you. To either of you. You're my boys," he explained and his voice broke a little. "And I…I love you, Dean. And I love Sammy. I do," he insisted when Dean just rolled his eyes. "So just…be safe," he urged. "And…please. Tell Sammy…tell him I'm sorry," John shrugged, and tried to send his eldest one last smile before walking away.

"Dad," Dean called after him, and John paused, but didn't look back. "You be safe, too," he urged. "Let's, um…just keep letting me know that you're okay. And, for whatever it's worth…Sammy does ask. If you're all right. Just, so you know."

John nodded and continued down the gravel path between the dead cars until he was out of sight.

Dean slid slowly to the ground, leaning against the Chevy with his knees bent up and his arms resting limply on them. He tried to make sense of what Dad had said, particularly that something was coming from Sammy, but his mind kept going back to the same thing, again and again.

He'd sent Dad away. Forever.

It was a long time before he moved again.

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9 Hours later

"So…the fact that I have powers," Sam frowned, "means I'm…I'm gonna be a demon?"

Dean shrugged. "Maybe? I don't know, Sammy. We don't know anything about the…the manuscript or whatever the hell it is that Dad found, it could be…hell, it could be a horror novel, for all we know."

"But your daddy did come back, knowing he wasn't welcome and that I'm as likely to fill him full of buckshot as look at him," Bobby noted, setting coffee down in front of both boys and joining them at the kitchen table, each at his usual place. "That's kind of an indication that at least he thinks it's true."

"Yeah, but…I don't...I mean…There's gotta be something…some way we can, I don't know, confirm it or something?" Sam said a little desperately.

'Maybe," Bobby frowned. "I've got some…pretty arcane contacts I can hit up."

"We'd appreciate it, Bobby," Dean assured him and turned his attention completely to his clearly freaked-out little brother. "In the meantime, Sammy, I need you to listen to me."

"Dean?" Sam said quietly, visibly pulling himself back from whatever dark rabbit hole of doom he'd been running down, and focused on his big brother, his hazel eyes wide with worry and just a spark of hope.

Dean put his hands on Sammy's still narrow shoulders and looked him in the eye. "I don't give a rat's ass what any dusty old stack of paper says. I know that your geeky brain likes to believe anything that's written down, but I believe what I see. And what I've seen, over and over, is that you only use any of your powers to help people. And if that's demonic, or a path to become demonic, I'll…I'll…" Dean floundered for a moment, desperately trying to find something he could physically do that would prove his conviction. "I'll give up bacon!" he pronounced, proudly, and Sammy laughed softly and leaned his head back for a moment, before meeting Dean's eyes again.

"Bacon, huh?" he smiled, shaking his head with an affectionate smile.

"That's a hell of a vow, Sammy," Bobby grinned.

"Don't I know it," Sam grinned. "Now I almost want it to be true," he smirked, "might be the best chance I have of getting your cholesterol under control."

Dean grinned and let go of Sammy's shoulders, giving him a small push as he pulled away. "Shut up. I'm perfectly healthy."

"Dean, sometimes I lie awake at night, just listening to your arteries harden."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

"Idjits," Bobby shook his head fondly.

The pair grinned at him, and Bobby smiled, knowing that they'd both be back in their own beds that night, as they should be.

"I do have a question, though," Bobby admitted, and waited until both his boys were looking at him expectantly. "What, exactly, did you mean, Dean, when you told Sammy he only uses any of his powers to help people.

Both boys froze like a rabbit confronted by a wolf. Or, Bobby thought, a werewolf confronted by a Winchester. "I found that a very interesting turn of phrase," Bobby continued mildly, and then his voice turned as cold and hard as the chassis of any of the wrecks in his yard. "Because you idjits only told me about one so-called power — Sam's telekinesis. Care to explain what you meant by any, Dean?"

Dean just swallowed nervously.

"Sammy?" Bobby tried.

"Uh…" Sammy fumbled.

"I meant," Dean jumped in, "if, like, he… got more! Powers. In the future. Some time," Dean continued, "because…that…could happen. Some. Day. Maybe."

"You keep diggin' that hole, boy," Bobby smirked, "and I ain't gonna have a ladder tall enough to reach ya."

"Dean," Sammy sighed, "stop. It's okay."

"Actually, Sam," Bobby said, his tone switching back to something calm and easygoing, in direct contrast to the look on his face. "It ain't. Because, when you idjits showed up at my doorstep two years ago, I had one rule. D'ya remember it? Don't. Lie. To me."

"I'm sorry, Bobby," Sam said softly. "I really am. And…and don't be mad at Dean. It was my idea. I…honestly, if it weren't for the fact that I can't always control it, that sometimes it happens when I don't mean to…I probably wouldn't've wanted to tell you about the telekinesis, either," he admitted. "I am sorry, Bobby, but…I just…" He trailed off for a moment, and looked down at the table, and sighed. "The telekinesis is bad enough. I didn't…I didn't want to compound it and make you see me as any more of a freak than you already do," he said miserably.

Bobby frowned and took off his hat.

"OW!" Sam jumped when the hat slapped him on the top of his head, only to be returned to once again cover Bobby's thinning hair. "What the hell was that for?!" Sam yelped.

"I don't think you're a freak, boy," Bobby said firmly. "I never have and I never will, and if you ever call yerself that again, I'll be taking you out the woodshed, I don't give a good god damn how old or how tall you are, ya hear me, boy?"

"Yes, sir," Sam said meekly.

"Yes what?" Bobby growled. "Do I look like your daddy, boy? Do I look like I'm in the damn military?"

"No, s…No, Bobby," Sam said softly. "Sorry, Bobby."

"Better," Bobby nodded once. "Now, you idjits gonna tell me what all you've been hiding from me under my own roof, or are we taking that stroll to the woodshed right damn now?"

"Well," Sam said reluctantly. "There's not much more. I can…heal…people. Animals, too. And myself, but…sometimes it happens with me and I don't do it on purpose or anything. It just…happens," he finished lamely. "I have to try, to work at it, with somebody else."

"And he can't do it if he's too tired," Dean added. "And he can stop it from happening to himself, if he realizes what's going on. That's how we were able to have enough evidence to get him away from Dad in Asheville. He stopped the healing from going any further," Dean added. Sam turned to face him, a what the HELL are you doing look on his face. "What?" Dean wondered.

"What a minute," Bobby interrupted, "you mean to tell me that the broken bones and bruises and all you came here with — the whole mess of injuries that were in the medical report y'all showed me — that was after Sam healed himself?"

Dean's eyes flew to Sam, and the silent conversation began.

That!, hazel eyes glared.

I'm sorry, green eyes replied. I didn't mean…

Dammit, Dean! Just let me tell him, okay?

Okay.

Bobby leaned back in his chair, as the boys' attention returned to him, and found the older Hunter breathing like an angry bull getting ready to charge. " 'At's it. That jackass father of yours shows up here ever again, I'm not gonna shoot him, I'm gonna skin that rat bastard alive!"

"Bobby," Sam said, keeping his voice calm and soft, like he was soothing an agitated wild animal. Which, honestly, he kind of was. "It wasn't that bad…"

"He almost killed you," Bobby said flatly, and turned his attention back to Sam. "Didn't 'e? Your own daddy almost fucking killed you."

"It really wasn't that big a deal…" Sam tried again.

"Hell it wasn't! A boy should be safe with his own daddy," Bobby insisted, and there was something in the older man's eyes that made Dean file that comment away for later.

"And I thought Dean told you John almost killed me," Sam remembered.

"Huh," Bobby scoffed. "You break your wrist, Dean thinks you're near death."

"HEY!"

"He's not that bad," Sam countered.

"Thank you!" Dean nodded at his brother.

"I have to break at least three bones, before he thinks I'm gonna die."

"Dammit!" Dean sputtered and half stood from his chair so he could lean over and smack his brother's head.

"OW! Would you two knock it off!" Sam protested, rubbing his head. "Swear to god, I'm more likely to get a concussion just talking to you two than I am on a Hunt."

"Heal it!" Bobby told him, and grinned. "Is that all?" he wondered. "Telekinesis and Healing?"

"Umm…no," Sam admitted reluctantly. "I can… well, it…"

"Spit it out, boy, it ain't gonna bite ya, and neither 'm I," Bobby said gently.

"I can…find…things," Sam finished, lamely.

"And people!" Dean added.

"And people," Sam nodded.

"O. Kay," Bobby frowned. "How is that…"

"It's easiest if I just show you," Sam sighed.

"All right," Bobby nodded and crossed his arms, waiting.

"We… need to go outside," Sam admitted.

"It's dark," Bobby observed.

"Won't matter," Dean assured him, as he and Sam stood. "He can do this if it's pitch black out. But, bring a flashlight," he added as Bobby joined them.

Bobby retrieved a high power tactical flashlight from its place by the back door and followed the pair outside.

They were standing in the backyard, just inside the fence separating the residence from the salvage yard beyond, when Sam stopped and turned to face his mentor and friend.

"Remember that rebuild that came in about a month ago? The one you lost the keys to?" Sam wondered.

"The MG," Dean clarified and Bobby nodded.

"I remember. Had to rekey the whole damn car as part of the rebuild."

"And you never found the keys," Sam noted.

"Nope, never did," Bobby shrugged. "Almost four acres of cars out there, and I had the damn things with me when I was looking for a matching side view mirror. I was all over the yard that day, could've lost 'em anywhere."

"And then it rained," Dean reminded. "So, it could be anywhere in the Salvage yard and it probably sank in the mud."

"Yeah," Bobby agreed.

Sam nodded, and took a deep breath. "I'm going to find them."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Well, that would be a trick."

"Not a trick," Sam assured him, and crouched until his right hand was on the ground. "I have help," he added and closed his eyes.

Dean took the flashlight from Bobby and pointed it at his brother.

"Do you maybe wanna do it out loud, this time?" Dean suggested.

"No," Sam said, looking at Dean as if his brother had lost his mind.

"It…might help," Dean added, "if Bobby has a better idea of...how you do it."

"I…" Sam began, shaking his head.

"I'd be interested in that," Bobby nodded. "The how as well as the what. Might help t'figure out where these powers actually come from."

Sam shrugged. "Fine," he agreed, reluctantly.. "No laughing," he added and started to speak softly.

"I need your help, please," he said in a voice soft and low, nearly— but not quite— chanting the words. "We've lost some keys. Bobby lost some keys. They were…." He paused, frowning, and looked up at Bobby. "What did they look like?" he asked in a normal tone of voice.

"Uh.. Silver," Bobby said and took his hat off for a moment to scratch the top of his head. "Had a…like a blue crystal thing on both sides of the head, for some damn fool reason."

Sam nodded, and closed his eyes again, lowering his head to address the ground in the same near-chanting tone. "Bobby lost his keys. Silver these, with blue at one end. I ask your help to find them, my friend," he finished, feeling completely ridiculous that someone had actually heard him.

"That's it?" Bobby wondered.

"Shhhh…" Dean said softly, and leaned close to the Hunter. "Just watch," he urged and focused the flashlight on Sam's hand, resting on the grass.

Bobby's eyes grew wide and he barely suppressed a gasp as the grass beneath Sam's hand suddenly seemed to be growing, reaching up through Sam's hand.

Sam's mouth opened slightly, and he tilted his head slightly, first left then right, as if listening for something that Bobby — strain though he might — could not hear.

"Thank you," Sammy breathed, and suddenly the short grass was beneath Sam's hand again, and the boy was standing.

"What the…" Bobby breathed.

"Oh, we're not done yet," Dean said quietly. To Sam he said more loudly, "Want the flashlight?"

"You know I don't need it," Sammy smiled at him.

Dean shrugged and grinned at Bobby. "Yeah, I do. Lead the way, MacDuff," he said, sweeping his free hand forward in invitation.

"That's gonna stay a thing, isn't it?" Sammy laughed.

"Yeah," Dean nodded, and chuckled as Sammy turned and led them through the gate to the Salvage Yard.

Dean and Bobby followed, Dean being careful not to let the light reach in front of Sam, who nevertheless walked with complete confidence and not a stumble through the narrow laneways between the piles of dead and decomposing cars.

A right, a left, another right, then Sam stopped, crouched down again, and Dean pointed the light once more at the hand Sammy lay flat on the ground.

The soil, hard packed here after weeks without rain, seemed to come loose around Sam's hand, and the dirt seemed to roll quickly, almost purposefully over the fingers and back of the hand.

Sam nodded once. "I got it," he nodded and the dirt rolled away, back to the hard pack below, before Sam stood and headed off, down a narrow path to the left.

Dean started to follow, but Bobby grabbed the arm with the flashlight, pointing to the place where Sam had knelt.

With a frown, Bobby kicked at the ground, and found it as hard packed as it had ever been. "What the hell?" he breathed, and might've stayed to examine the ground more closely, but Dean pulled the flashlight away and grabbed Bobby's arm, leaning him down the path Sammy had taken.

"Come on," Dean urged, "we can't lose him."

Bobby followed obediently, glancing behind him at the apparently undisturbed earth.

This time, Dean kept the light well ahead of them, picking out Sam's silhouette moving ahead of them, barely keeping Sam in sight as they moved deeper into the maze of metal.

Finally, after about five minutes of following Sam around corner after corner, until even Bobby didn't have a clue where they were, Sam stopped in an area of grass between a pile of unidentifiable squares of mostly rust and a stack of half-crushed cars.

He stood still for a moment, looking at the ground, then took his shoes off and flexed his toes in the tufts of grass that had taken over the intersection.

Bobby and Dean stood, watching as Sam moved first to his left, then back to his right, then back a step, then forward two, walking a weird dance that took him closer to the half-crushed cars, and almost down the next path.

Without warning, Sam stopped, and looked down at his feet, before taking a step back and kneeling. He set both hands against the ground, where his feet had been, and whispered for a few moments.

Bobby made out the words here and have and thank you, and then Sam's hand was covered in grass and dirt which seemed to roll up to cover the boy's hand all the way to the wrist, and when the dirt and grass receded, Sam stood up, holding the missing keys in his open palm.

"Holy Shit," Bobby breathed.

"That's what I said," Dean told him with a grin as Sam stepped forward to drop the keys into Bobby's shaking hand.

"How the hell…" Bobby began.

"I'll give you the whole explanation later," Sam promised, "but basically…I ask. And…something tells me."

"What the hell," Bobby shook his head, and put an arm around Sam's shoulders. "Well, I know one thing, boy."

"Yeah?" Sam said, warily.

"Whatever that is, it ain't demonic," Bobby assured him. "Ain't no demon I ever heard of could…talk to the damn ground. And they sure as hell don't ask for anything! Don't know what the hell it is," he admitted, "but I'm damn sure what it ain't."

"See?" Dean said from the other side of his brother. "I told you, it's all for good."

Sam smiled and nodded with a sigh. "Let's just go back insi…". Sam stumbled and stopped, looking at his bare right foot, covered now by grass and dirt.

"The hell?" Dean frowned. "Sammy? Did you…"

"No, I…" Sam froze, his eyes glazing over, and then the grass retreated and Sam stood still, staring at nothing.

"Sam?" Bobby frowned.

Dean stepped in front of his brother, put his hands on both the boy's shoulders and gave a little shake. "Sammy? What's going on?"

Sam blinked and met his brother's gaze. "We gotta get back to the house," he said and bent to grab his shoes, shoving his feet into them. "Now!" he urged and started jogging, leading the way back through piles of cars.

"Sammy!" Dean called after him, as he and Bobby followed closely behind. "Sam! What's wrong?"

Sam stopped and faced them for a moment, breathing more heavily than the short jog should require, and shook his head, his eyes wide and frightened, darting left and right before settling in on his brother's worried gaze.

"I don't know," Sam admitted. "But they warned me." He shook his head again, and his eyes scanned the sky and the piles of car-shaped scrap metal. "Something's coming.

Now."

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A/N So that's chapter 12 in the books.

I'd love to hear what y'all think is coming!

As always, I thank all who have favorited, followed and commented.

Souless666 - I like John, too, and I actually thought, for about 5 minutes, that they boys would go back to John, but as it turns out - Dean is still way too pissed off about Asheville to give in yet! Don't give up hope, though. I have no doubt that Dean still loves John, and so does Sammy, deep down. It could still happen, in some form or another!